Tales of the South Pacific - James A. Michener [134]
Now from the huts came a terrible screaming. The chief's favorite Mary was bringing forth the pig whose tusks made two complete circles. It was a small pig, grown wizened in misery. When it was tied, protesting, to its stake, the proud woman who had coaxed it to maturity signified that all barren women in the kraal were free to share the blessing of its magic testicles. This they did, reverently, proud to participate in their friend's good fortune.
The women retired. Within his circle of palm fronds the old chief waited. "This is his wonderful moment!" the chaplain whispered. "Watch."
Slowly the other chiefs moved forward. Their tail feathers bobbed in the hot sunlight. They chanted a song of praise in honor of the man who was truly rich because he had so much to give away. Half-doleful at first, they later burst into violent shouting. At the height of their song, one suddenly grabbed a pig that screamed horribly. Even Fry, who knew what to expect, gasped.
Swiftly the old chief raised his massive ironwood club and smashed it down upon the pig's snout. He then thundered twenty blows upon the pig's skull. With great passion he crushed every bone in the pig's head. Then, with delicate precision, he gave two ceremonial blows that ended the sacrifice. He completely caved in all the bones surrounding each eye. Yet in all his apparently wild smashing, he never touched either of the tusks. Stained in deep blood, they fulfilled their function. They brought a fleeting immortality to the man who gave them away and to the woman who had reared them. Now they dug at the bloody earth into which they were tossed by excited chiefs who chanted new songs and hauled new pigs to the slaughter.
After the fifth pig was killed in this shuddery manner, Benoway found that he had to look away. In doing so he noticed that all other eyes were straining intently at the savage ceremonial. "It must have been like this when Aztecs killed their human sacrifices," he thought. But he, too, looked back when one pig in death throes broke loose and destroyed the circle of palm branches. Drenched in blood, the graceful branches trailed through the red dirt. "How different the significance we place on palm branches," Benoway thought.
"You'll notice," the chaplain was whispering to Fry, "that these people use palm branches, too. I understand the ancient druids did, also. Or something like palm branches."
Fry turned to relay this information to Benoway, but he saw that the doctor was sick at the stomach. "Sorry, old man," he said.
There was a new rain of crunching blows when the pig was recovered. The animal screamed madly, died horribly, and the ceremony drew to a close. Then a hush fell over the packed kraal. The pig of them all was finally hauled forward. For the last twenty minutes he had heard his fellows die protestingly, but he had made no sound. He remained quiet while the chiefs grabbed him. He allowed them to drag him before his ancient master. He cried out only slightly when the first terrible, face-smashing blow fell. By the time his eyes were beaten in there was no more than a dull murmur over the kraal. Benoway had to get up and leave. No one smiled.
The sacred ceremonial branch was broken by the chief. He threw it to the ground and made a short speech in which he divided the dead pigs among his friends. Then, with a rush, the chiefs and their sons fell upon the carcasses and began to dress the meat. They used long knives. With one slash they cut away the pig's head. Then they gutted him and threw the entrails to the Maries, who salvaged edible portions. Dogs dragged the remainders to the corners of the kraal. Finally the carcass was slashed into eight or ten pieces. Deftly, the jungle butchers passed tough loops of fiber through the tendons to make handles. These they handed to their wives.
The Americans were offered